


The Object of My Affection Is An Obsession

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Body Worship, Drugs Made Them Do It, Dubious Consent, F/M, Mentions of Rape, Plus-sized girl, Stalking, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, but it's questionable to say the least, don't think lucas could actually rape anyone..., no actual rape, pervy Lucas, well it made her do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 06:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10588350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Request for 8bit: I was wondering if you're able to maybe write anything about Lucas with and a plus sized girl??Hope you enjoy this one 8bit. I tried to get all the specific little details in there for you. <3Warnings for: see tags for warnings, there's a few of them.





	

It was Friday, class was over and the day was still fresh. The only good thing about having your Western Lit class start at six in the morning was that it was only seven-thirty when you were back on the road to work, enough time to stop in and get a second cup of coffee and one of those bagels from the deli. 

Your days had a certain predictability to them: Wake up, coffee, class, coffee, dick pic, work, books, and sleep. 

Usually, the dick pic came in somewhere between when class ended, and you opened up the store. Today it slides sneakily in between texts from your Ma while you’re in line for coffee. The screen lights up just as you hold it up in front of you. Within sight of the man behind you, your phone fullscreens a picture of nine inches of sloppy cock. 

“...shit!” You fumble; the phone nearly clattering to the floor in your haste to shove it back down in your pocket. It's probably the most embarrassing thing you've been a part of in years… and years. 

The man behind you shifts and clears his throat as you spend the rest of your time in line wanting to just… die. Should have known better, you scold yourself while standing in line with red cheeks and a fast pounding heart. You get one nearly every day, almost at the same time and it’s always from a different number despite it being the same dick every time. 

Maybe it's time you just a got a different number...

The wait for your coffee and meager breakfast feels like a lifetime.

Niko’s Hardware is just a couple minutes down Historic Dulvey, so you walk there most mornings. Even with the light fog and promise of rain, you tuck your hands around a hot cup of black coffee, absorbing its heat and make the short journey to work. 

By eight-fifty-five you unlock the shop and flip the door sign from closed to open. Another day, another dollar. It’ll be boring, you know it will and not having checked the forecast before heading to college, you’ve left your current novella on your bedside table. It would have been smart to bring it, but alas you’ll have to find something else to occupy your time with until closing.

It’s just as slow as you predicted.

With the rain throwing unpredictable patterns over town, no one wants to come out of their respective dwellings. It’s still too early to freeze this far south, but with the rain last week came a cold front, and by now it’s enough to keep everyone indoors.

No one, except the desperates with an emergency, will be coming to the shop today. You don’t blame them. If it wasn’t for starting the day before the rain began you might have accepted disappointing your Ma and stayed in bed, reading or watching re-runs. 

With nothing else to do, you dial in on the countertop TV set and sit back on your stool with coffee in hand and a solemn expression. It could always be worse. 

After two hours of nothing and four shows in on some dumb sitcom, the door chimes. You look up from the snowy screen, chin in your palm and watch as Lucas Baker stands in the open doorway. For a second you don’t recognize him, but once you do, he notices. Those pale blue eyes light up; lips stretching in something like a smile but less meager and more… feral?

You run your eyes down his lanky form, forgetting how thin he'd always been. 

His soaking wet hoodie hangs off his scalp, sagging around slim hips. The little welcome mat absorbs most of the rain gliding off him, but you know just by looking at him that once he’s gone, you’ll have to mop just to avoid another customer slipping on their ass. You smile politely, try not to blush at his intense gaze and pretend you're busy adding up the receipts from yesterday. It’s an obvious ruse, but the way he stares unnerves you to some extent.

You've seen the Baker’s around since after high school, mainly Zoe about town, but you don't think you've ever spoken to Lucas outside of that chemist assignment you both were paired up for in middle school. You don't think he's changed much... not until he appears like an apparition at the counter minutes later, arms full of... collars and rope? A saw?

His wide, glassy eyes stare, not even blinking as you straighten up on the stool, gluing on an honest smile, making sure your eyes crinkle. 

“H-hey...Lucas, right? Kinda wet out there, huh?” you stutter at first, but that's just nostalgia sugar-coating him. 

He looks bad...like meth-addicted bad and when his lips peel back in a grin one of his eyes twitches; still unblinking. Your brows crease. It's a shame - he used to be sort of cute. He was always so smart; gifted. To think he'd taken that kind of turn is depressing, but you won't judge, or at least you try not to. He wouldn’t be the first person you’ve known to end up down that road, and he won’t be the last in this kind of town. 

“Faith, yeeeaaah - that's right. I remember you. Still growing ah’ see.” He says it with a flicker in his eyes that's not insulting, but it still makes you feel oddly so. That drug-fueled look lays over your ample chest and the slight pudge below. You uncross your thick thighs, feeling strangely naked. Anyone who wasn’t stupid could see you were uncomfortable.

Once out of high school the teasing about your ass and tits had all but vanished. People put less stock in appearances, at least outwardly so, in the real world. 

Lucas stands there and reminds you of all that, but his gaze isn’t nasty… it’s lustful. It flusters you, despite the sour smell coming from him and the way the rain beads off his greasy face. You had a tiny, almost non-existent crush on him when you were a teenager but if he’s on drugs, you can’t let old sentimentality sway you. With a pleasant enough smile you ring up the items he pushes over the counter. By the sixth dog collar, you must have hesitated - he must see something telling in your face or posture - because he giggles loosely and slaps his palms on the counter edge. They’re pale, his hands, and though his fingers are long and strong looking, the nails are dirty and chipped. You get a sinking feeling as his appearance, and his purchases start to form their own story in your mind.

“Me an’ the fam are doin’ that dog foster set up, ya know. We got ‘em coming in by the bucket loads and oh'yeah...the saw,” he pauses to snort up some laughter as you scan the barcode on the saw handle, trying your hardest to keep the shake in your fingers from being too obvious.

Lucas mutters, “The ol’ man’s got me buildin’ dog houses out back.”

“Oh, well we’ve got lumber out in the sh-”

“I got wood...got a ‘big’ load of it,” he rumbles on a face splitting grin. It’s all very theatrical, almost rehearsed, but coming from someone like him, you’re not sure. Certainty is fleeting. With the rain cocooning you in and no one walking the streets outside and with him?… you feel trapped. Images of Lucas hacking up body parts and digging naked graves to dispose of all the people that used to pick on him crosses your mind. Another gross thought about the dog collars makes you almost forget he’s watching you intently.

You hang your head, hiding the way your cheeks flush with nerves. It never did matter what it was, but the slightest hint of awkwardness, flattery or panic always lit your cheeks up. Any calm you might have been able to emit is ruined by your predisposition to blush at the drop of a hat. Keeping your pink cheeks out of full view, you total up the purchases on the clunky register and look at the blaring price tag…

“You’re total is-”

“Yeah, yea...here put it on ugh, this one!” He hands you a well-worn credit card with the wrong name on it.

Lucas wheezes something like a laugh on the edge of his lips, “It’s mah Aunts. Crazy ol’ bitches got a gaggle of her own bitches.”

The name on the card should have been the last straw, but your mind likes to run wild at times. Too many books, your Ma says, so with a thin smile, you finish the transaction, bagging the collars and rope and handing him the saw as if he's covered in skin-soaking poison. The edge of his thumb brushes the side of your finger, and you audibly gasp, looking mortified as he smirks down the dark shadows of his hood. 

He looks dead…

Lucas licks his lower lip as an old droplet of salty rain slips over his chin, touching his tongue to the backs of his parted teeth, “See ya aroun’ Faith. Missed that ass ah’ yurs.”

You frown and glare, nerves abating as he hisses a tumble of giggles, walking out of the store on squeaky sneakers and an air of hubris. The door bangs shut - bells ringing happily - and you sink down on the stool with your arms crossed under the big tits he’d been ogling.

“Asshole,” you mutter, but… despite it all, you feel flattered. You shouldn’t, fuck knows you should be disgusted through and through, but you sit there with a warm fuzzy feeling in your gut for too long before the feeling finally fades away to more boredom. 

Off and on you think about calling the cops on him, just in case, but the sheriff won’t do more than send a hungover deputy down to the Baker’s anyway, and it’ll be a waste of time. You can see calling them and getting grief for it the next day. Wastin’ their precious time. Of course. 

Only one other customer comes in over the next four hours, and it’s Albert from down the road to buy a fuse for one of his coolers. He’s nice, but he dashes in and out, as if in the span of fifteen minutes all his meat’ll rot, but you're glad he doesn’t stay because ten minutes later your phone dings. You’d have rather enjoyed small talk to pass the time, but a text conversation will do. You click open the lockscreen and arch a brow at the number. New number with an LA area code? - But it’s got four zeros on the end which doesn’t seem right. 

The message just reads ‘hey.'

Curious enough due to the empty shop, you type in a response.

‘Who’s this?’

Immediately, a reply pops up. 

‘take a guess.'

After the weirdness with Lucas Baker that morning you’re not sure you can handle something like this. Any other day and you’d be down for stupid text games like this, but right now all you can picture is some creepy stalker looking at your through the windows. 

Horror movies have started out with less tension than this, so you set your phone down and head through aisle four where the auto supplies are. You grab the biggest tire iron, hold it diagonally across your chest and head into the back room, flipping on lights, checking corners and convince yourself you're stupid. The back door deadbolt is locked, but the key lock is open making you hesitate before turning the little lock in place. Ma must have forgotten to check that one before leaving yesterday. That’s all. No reason to worry, you reassure yourself.

Your heart pounds despite trying to breathe away your distemper.

It’s just needless panic, you tell yourself. No one’s in the shop. You’ve checked already. Someone’s gotten your number from a friend, and they’re trying to be funny. Or maybe Ma got a new number… something. 

You tell yourself all is fine until you're standing in front of the counter, looking down at your phone again. 

A hard, weeping dick looks up at you from the screen - the same one that’s been trolling you for the past month. It’s in the middle of cumming. Fat wads of cum are frozen in time, sliding down the length of it. You stare and blink and realize with a swollen throat that the fabric bunched up at the base of the cock is the same dark green of Lucas’ hoodie.

One of the puzzles pieces clicks in place, and your cheeks go red with anger.

“That piece of sh-” A boom of thunder stops you dead, takes your breath away and leaves your skin fear-soaked, standing frozen solid behind the counter. The lights cut out. The TV swoons dead, and you stand there under the light of your phone with his enormous dick pic the only illumination. There's little to no light outside thanks to the storm and long pitch black shadows fill the shop. 

“Jesus fucking shit balls,” you curse; lips trembling. One after another. You'd be okay if it was just the lights, just the dick or just your interaction with Lucas but it's all three, including the keylock being open and all together these scenarios are coalescing into one big NO. 

You fumble with your phone, tapping out of the raunchy, sloppy cock and activate the LED flashlight. With the added sight the shop’s ten times creepier. More thunder booms, lightning flashing through the windows and you stop dead with your palm on the counter's edge. There's someone… yes, you saw a silhouette right there!

You grip the tire iron in one hand, trembling, “I-there’s a tire iron here with your fucking name on it! S-so if I were you…”

A giggle tumbles out from the darkness, but your phone's light can't find him. 

It's Lucas. His chuckle is fresh in your memory, and he’s here for you. He's going to kill you, or he's going to kidnap you and strap one of those dog collars around your neck and feed you biscuits and-and…

“Mm-mmhmmm,” he moans from some hidden place, “I gotta admit, Faith, jus’ hearing yur voice after so long really got the blood pumpin’, if ya catch mah drift.”

“You,” your voice shakes, but you’re angry just as much as you’re afraid. The vulgar dick pics you've been getting - they’ve all been from him! “... you've been the one harassing me with those-those-”

“An’ I'd thought o’ you every fucking time.”

Finally, as you wave your phone’s flashlight across the floor, the lights catch in a full blue eye. Lucas reveals himself, staggering height, wet and dirty and grinning like a mad dog. Your phone shakes in your outstretched arm as you raise the tire iron. This is bullshit. Lucas Baker hasn't spoken to you, hasn't seen you since high school… unless. 

You stare, slack jawed as his lips curl knowingly. Memories of seeing things our the corner of your eyes while walking home and that same tinted windowed caddy that whistles at you from time to time - of the way things seemed to move or get lost in your apartment. That one phantom smell of metal and gunpowder that you couldn't figure out when you got home one day. He's been stalking you. Lucas has been in your fucking house...in your bedroom. For… for years maybe, he’s been following you. For what purpose? - what endgame?!

“Ye’aaaaah, guessin’ ya never figured out what happened to them red panties, huh? Don’ worry ah’ still got ‘em somewhere.”

You pause, lowering the tire iron, “...you’ve been stalking me.”

“Well, duh! Ooooh, Faith...ah’ thought you were smarter than this! Come on now! - you ain’t been gettin’ all them A-pluses by blowin’ yur professors,” he says, but those light-catching eyes narrow, “least you better not be.”

The audacity. You swallow, fear taking a back seat to anger and embarrassment. How many times has he watched you change out of your clothes? Take a shit? - or cry yourself to sleep because your Ma got drunk again and decided to call you, reminding you of all your fuck ups…?

Your cheeks light up, but Lucas must not see because he smiles. If it weren't for the situation, you’d think it was kind, maybe even sweet, but it’s not. He’s crazy, just like everyone thought and you have to get the fuck out of here. Even with a four-point-oh GPA, you’re not sure what to do with your life, but you sure as hell don’t plan on spending it as Lucas’ chew toy...or dead in a ditch for that matter. There’s no running - he’s faster than you, but you used to play softball in high school. You’ve got a mean swing waiting for him if he comes at you.

Lucas sways away from one of the corner aisles, dripping old rain. He looks like he’s just crawled out of a swamp. A crackle of thunder makes you jump; makes him grin. You’ve yet to see him blink, though his eyes are glassy and keen. In a mixture of horror and confusion, you watch as he lifts a full, black syringe in front of him and flicks the sharp needle with his forefinger. It pings against the pounding rain, sending a wash of prickling dread down your spine. If you let him get close enough, he’ll shove that in and push down on the plunger. Whatever it is, you’re certain you’ll be finished after that.

“Lucas…” you say, as firm and unphased as you can manage, “look… you can either get the fuck out of here or-” the way he licks his teeth throws you off for a second, “... or you can get this in the face.”

You wave the tire iron enough to catch his eye, but all he does is cackle like a fucked up Mr. Hyde and hiss gleefully at your so-called ‘weapon.’ Lucas takes a step closer and without thinking you take a step back. In the heat of the moment, you’d always hoped you’d end up being a badass, but faced with a deranged man with a needle full of black shit you retreat like a coward. The doorway to the back room hits the edge of your shoulder just as thunder billows through the warehouse. Lightning flashes, coating a snarling, vicious Lucas as he slammed into you, shoving your spine against the framework. Your neck pinches and something hot rushes through your throat.

The needle pierces into your esophagus, and whatever was inside slides down your gasping throat into your stomach. Holy fuck, you think wildly, clawing at his hood, trying to get inside his skin and tear him apart.

His damp forearm presses your back further into the hard line of wood, but even though your head’s swimming you slam your forehead down, crushing his nose in a fit of fight or flight. Blood splatters over your chin, down your neck but he just keeps on laughing like you’ve tickled him and not just broken his fucking nose. It’s horrific and demoralizing and whatever it is he’s injected you with is bubbling and popping behind your abdomen. A wave of nausea rushes up the back of your throat, but you don’t puke it up - it won’t let you.

“L-lucas...what-”

“Shhh-sh, it’s gonna be over re’aal soon ah’ promise. Got this shit here special, jus’ fer you….”

You stumble, feeling a weakness you’ve only heard about but never known. His strong, iron-clad grip on your waist and arm keep you from sliding down to the floor. 

Lucas puffs warm breath against your face - it smells like he’s drank a can of syrupy sweet soda not long ago.

“Mmm’ been getting damn tired of jus’ watchin’. I thought to myself just an hour ago, 'Faith wouldn't mind, hell! - She's probably been waiting fer you to make a move, Lucas! ' So! Ah' decided it was high time to come on by an' have myself a taste,” his broken nose presses into your soft cheek, and through your wide eyes you can see his own finally close; blinking, “Been waitin’ so fucking long.”

The poison has numbed your fingers, forcing the tire iron to clatter noisily to the cement floor. Your toes are next and then your arms and legs. Lucas shifts, snaking an arm down your side and pulls himself a handful of your ass with a breathy groan down your neck. A little, glass rattle runs across the floor as the rain torrents down like a monsoon outside - the syringe you think, feeling your ass go as numb as your limbs. 

“I ain’t no rapist ya know…’spite was the ol’ man thinks,” he mutters, against your face; hot breath running down your collar. His other hand pets the side of your neck like your a good dog... or something else equally terrifying. When he leans in and presses his lips over your own, you’re too stunned to do much else but shiver. Not a rapist?! You finally get a grip and laugh bitterly against his mouth as your stomach goes cold and your nipples tighten before going numb as well. Unless this is some crazy aphrodisiac, there’s no way you’ll let Lucas Baker fuck you.

“F-fuck you,” you manage as the deadness travels up your throat and engulfs the rest of you. You can’t feel a thing as Lucas giggles, leaning back to stare at you with a lazy, smug look. He moves you around like a damn rag doll in his arms.

“That’s the goal, Faith. Mah’ endgame if ya will.”

He throws you up over his shoulder; limp and useless. Lucas is thin, but he’s stronger than he looks. He walks around the shop, bends to pocket the syringe and grabs the tire iron without a sound of strain, even as you sway over his shoulder. It’s inhuman, and it’s wrong. You’re not light, never have been but he carries you like your nothing but that rope he’d slung over his shoulders that very morning.

Thunder rattles the framework of the shop, ringing in your ears and that gross, thick mixture from your belly rises to the back of your throat but goes no further. Without the sensation of external touch, all your other senses are heightened. The stale, wet smell of him is overpowering. The sound of rain coalesces into a deafening roar and the taste from his lips is sickly sweet.

“Heh! Let’s jus’-yeah that’ll work,” he slaps an arm over the counter and shoves everything off it, register and TV - the noise breaking inside your ears - and lays you over the length of the bare table. You sink like you're dead, but your eyes remain open, watching as the rain keeps pouring outside. Lucas takes hold of your chin and turns your head to face him. He’s looking at you intently. The blue light from the storm outside only barely highlighting his glowing eyes while they skim your face and narrow critically. 

You think he smiles in the darkness, but can’t be sure 

He leaves you there as you stare up at the ceiling with the water stains and dust tracks from one of the AC vents. It sounds like he double checks the lock on the front door and then the old blinds ruffle and fall in a static of flappy metal over the windows. Darkness swallows you up; pure black You feel nothing and don't see anything for the longest time before soft-white light after light begins to expose the world once again.

Lucas places an electric lantern on the counter beside your hip, but you can only barely see him out the corner of your flooding eyes.

“I’d say we got ourselves about twenty more minutes before the effects kick in, least that’s what that asshat in charge said. Ah’ checked the formula mah’self so we should be good to go soon enough,” Lucas trails off and raises a hand to your neckline. 

You don’t feel anything, and over the rain hitting the roof, you can barely hear a thing either, nothing accept his giggles and groans. Lucas leans down over your chest, pinching his tongue between his teeth. He’s looking down your shirt, you notice with a blush and a feeling of disgust. Of all the days you had to wear the push up bra…with the ridiculous pink bow on the bridge. Should have put on the well-worn sports bra and your granny panties, but no, of all the days you had to pick this one to put on impractical cute underwear.

“Well, fuck me. Can’t believe ah’ got that project done back in the sixth grade. Shit! - You were stacked even then! And damn, gurl! You could smother ah’ man with these puppies!”

You manage a slight noise as you try to work your throat around an insult, but it’s useless. All you can manage after that is a twitch of your finger as Lucas leans in and shoves his face between your tits. Even if you can’t feel it, you know your face is red as he grunts and giggles, making wet, happy sounds between your breasts. It looks like he’s licking your cleavage, though the noises are muffled. Loud sucking fills the cotton between your ears, and the dimmest breadth of pleasure swims up from your left nipple. 

Oh, fucking hell, he’s shoved your bra down...he’s-he’s...you swallow, feeling the weight of your tongue come back with a tickle. Luca is sucking on your tits, and somehow you can hear the wet, slurping sounds over the rain. The idea, though you barely feel it, sends an unwanted jolt of pleasure down your belly. No, no-no-no-no...

Whatever it is swimming in your stomach is starting to wear off - it should make you feel better, knowing that you won’t spend the rest of your life paralyzed, but with the feelings that come back also comes the sensations Lucas is forcing upon you. He licks your breasts, squeezes them in his palms, makes them bounce as he latches his lips around the stiff peaks and gives them long, hard sucks.

It feels good… it feels very, very good but you hate him for it.

The tickle of stubble on his jaw grazes one puckered nipple and out of your throat comes a loud whine. You stop dead, beyond mortified as his lips stretch against the underside of your breast. Of course, eventually you were gonna slip up and make a noise, let him know you liked it. ‘You’ didn’t like it, your body did. There was a difference and though you knew there was didn’t mean Lucas did.

“Here comes the fun part, Faith. This shit’s gon’ set yur nerves on fucking fire. In about oooh - let’s say ten more minutes, I’ll have ya begging fer some ah’ this dick... right... here.” You see his shoulder jerk up and down as if he’s got a hold of his cock through his pants; grabbing it for emphasis.

His voice drops several octaves, moist between your tits, “And yur gonna take every inch of it…” He breathes, desperate and fully-mad, “Whaddaya think, baby? Think that sweet little cunt of yurs can handle it?! Ooh, ‘cause boy is it’s gonna - fuck right it is.”

No, you think, whimpering as his mouth skims wetly down your right breast, sucking in a tender nipple once again. He’s a rapist - he’s insane, and it doesn’t matter if it feels good. You don’t want him or his stupidly large cock. Nor do you want his mouth working that deplorable magic on you a second longer. His teeth dig into your flesh, sparking something wholly primal and debased. On a dim scream you lift a hand up to the back of his hooded scalp and press him down deeper; whimpering. Bliss swims down through your breast, rushing along a path past your navel straight to your cunt. 

“..w-wait...nooo,” you slur, trying to curl your fingers in the sodden fabric - trying to pull him back after what you just did, but the weak tug does nothing to stop the bite of his mouth or the curved slide of his tongue, lapping around the puckered flesh.

Lucas rolls your left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling and pinching until tears well up in your eyes and slip sadly down the side of your cheeks. Fuck, but it does feel nice, and that’s the worst thing about it. You’d been only half joking about the whole aphrodisiac thing but, hell...you feel like the nerves that come back online are on fire, and it’s his touch that soothes the burn or stokes it… you’re not sure.

“Gawd damn,” he growls between sucks and licks, “good thing ah’ jerked it before commin’ back over. I could cum right now…heh’heeee, keep makin’ those pretty little sounds, and it’s gonna get messy in here.”

The way he speaks sends a little jolt, like a weak lightning bolt, down your stomach. Lucas kisses your tits before lifting up, looking at your weeping, flushed face as he pants and snarls softly, “Aw! Look at that face! Yur wasted on this shithole ya know that? With those brains an’ these soft tits...ooh baby, we can make magic happen, you an’ me.”

Lucas runs the back of his bony knuckles over your cheek - it prickles with heat and something so intense it borders on pain. You exhale through your nose and put all your effort into moving your shoulder against the counter, trying to get off - to get away. He chuckles, tugging your neck into his palm, keeping you pinned. The light scrape of his thumb under your chin makes you whimper. Like fire and ice.

“...please,” you get out, fear cementing in your stomach as you feel his fingertips along your inner thigh, pushing into the denim.

“Please, what? ‘Please give me that fat dick, Lucas?!’ Well, if ya insist. Who am I to refuse ah sexy chick like yourself?”

“N-no-” you stutter as his hand twists, pressing between your thighs, against your crotch. Two firm fingers press in and slide up, then down; rubbing you through your jeans and underwear. The sound you make in your throat is humiliating, but with whatever your stomach is currently absorbing into your bloodstream, it feels not unlike a bare touch. 

Pleasure knots in your belly. 

Without meaning to your fingers clench the counter edges and out of your mouth comes a long, defeated moan. You were gonna cum. Another minute of this and you were going to cum right there, right on the fucking counter with Lucas rubbing you through your pants. This must be what Freddy felt like when you dry humped him in the eighth grade, and he creamed his pants. 

As the pleasure swells and you gasp, guilt washes over you - you shouldn’t have made fun of him for that because you’re about to climax with your jeans still on… just a little more.

“...fuuuuck,” you breathe, eyes rolling back in your head as a soft, long wave of bliss rushes up from your clit and through your thighs, up your belly and further spreading outward. It’s the best damn orgasm you’ve ever had. The prickle in your limbs simmers into half of the strength you had before he'd injected you. You lay there with your lower back arched, your thighs spread and let him rub you through the ebbing waves of bliss; his face hovering over you own with a look of pure concentration on his face.

“Ya ‘member that night yur new shower head arrived? All that fuss you made trying to hook the fucker up… ye’ahhh,” he whispers, teeth pinching your earlobe with uneven breaths as his fingers run up over your mound, fumbling blindly at the clasp on your jeans, “... first time ah’ ever saw you cum. It’s so much better in person.” 

You decide you won’t give him anymore moans - won’t make the noises you made that night in your bathtub, even as he unzips your jeans and shoves his hand inside, over your soaked panties. It’s too shameful, so you turn your head to the side, feeling his lips parts against the side of your neck. His teeth skate your skin, setting fire to your nerves as his finger presses over the hard, swollen nub of your clit. Just that alone forces your teeth into your tongue.

“What do we ‘ave here? Looks like ah’ found the magic method to the watergates, huh? Mm’mmm’mm...would ya feel that…”

You hold your breath, bracing yourself as he sucks on the side of your neck and pushes the edge of your panties aside, shoving a long finger right up to the knuckle. 

“Oh’god...fuck,” you curse and growl; throat working around a heavy swallow. That felt way too fucking sweet to be real. It stings in a morbid mixture of pain and pleasure, but only because it’s been so long since you’ve had anything up there. Even masturbating you don’t pay much attention to that area… it’s wet and messy and never felt all that great but this? - Lucas’ bony finger stretches that ring of muscle and lights a fucking fire inside.

“S-shit…” he groans as you tremble. Lucas rips his hand away so fast you feel like he’s thrown you off the counter - everything is hazy and broken, but the loss of contact allows you a second of reprieve to shake off the crap in your system. You roll over on your side, nearly at the edge of the counter before his fingers are tugging at the hem of your jeans, dragging you back. Yes, you want that cock, but… you don’t - no, you need to throw an elbow into his balls and makes a mad dash for the door. 

“No!” You bark it like a cry as Lucas yanks on your hips, pulling your ankles and knees off the counter. The floor meets your feet with a slap, sending a shock of sensation up your heels. 

Cold air hits your ass, and your legs slip off the counter as he snarls and shoves your jeans down around your thighs. Tears of mortification and sour adrenaline gather in your lashes as your panties catch between your wet thighs. The edge of the counter cuts into your stomach. Pain has an addictive edge to it, but it feels wrong, and when Lucas starts pulling you ass cheeks apart, thumbs slipping down the folds of your cunt you give in - right then and there.

“...oh’okay,” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut, wanting it so badly but refusing to ask for it.

You stand there, shivering, bent over the counter with your arms braced across the surface. Behind you, Lucas pants like an overheated dog, digging the soaked fabric out from between your thighs, allowing the air to hit the wet flesh finally exposed. A strange, garbled string of curses hits the back of your shoulder as Lucas wedges the heel of his hand down between your ass, slipping down towards your soaked cunt. Two fingers shove inside, curl and drag up; running an invisible line of pleasure. It scratches something tender and electric inside - something that Lucas Baker of all people shouldn’t be able to find but does.

Fine, you think, staring at the dark gray from the storm trapped behind the glass. The open sign flipped so the world outside sees a closed Niko’s Hardware and nothing else - not that anyone would come…

Lucas releases a heated breath on the back of your head and presses his broken nose against the side of your cheek, “What’s tha’ verdict, Faith? We can fix this little,” his fingers slide, press deep and curl, “problem real fast, all you gotta do is ask nicely.” 

He hisses - you can hear the grin by the feel of his face against the side of your own, and though you want to, you can’t tell him to fuck off.

The storm outside rages, coating the glass door in streams of rain glistening against the lanterns he’s got glowing around the shop. It might have been romantic - the atmosphere he’s made - but it’s far from it. As Lucas coaxes little sounds out of your throat with his working fingers, his breathing spikes. If he wants you to beg, you won’t. If Lucas' waiting for permission he’ll have to eat his words and think he’s raping you, cause you’re not going to budge. Besides, the way he’s panting and grunting, if anyone’s going to start begging it’ll be him. 

You were right too, his fingers slip away, leaving you painfully empty and aching. His grip on your ass is half moist from the fluids leaking out of you. Lucas growls, “Please…” and you stare ahead, breathing ragged and grin. It sounds like it hurts for him to ask. Good! Without a filter, you laugh, pressing your forehead against the counter in a fit of giggles. Lucas grumbles, curling his short nails into your ass like that’ll be punishment enough to shut you up. 

“Oh,” you pant with amusement, watching your breath fog the linoleum below you, “oh’Lucasss… let me hear you say it again. Go on, ask me nicely, you fucker.”

Instead of this pissing him off, Lucas tugs your ass into his hips and whimpers like someone's got a heel in his balls; as if he likes it. Curious, you think as his hands skim up the globes of your ass, testing the width of your waist and the length of your stretched out arms. His breath runs down your neck, warming you to the point of sweating. God, you love it...

“Pretty please,” it’s borderline sarcastic, but there’s a desperate edge there as well that makes you chuckle. Lucas' skinny chest, thankfully cushioned by his hoodie, lays over your back, pressing you flat into the counter. His teeth run along your ear, and that tender spike of sensation makes you sigh.

If he's this eager maybe it won't be so bad - worst case scenario he finishes too soon for you to get off again, but with the way your skin burns, you’ll be cumming with the first thrust. It’s dangerous and stupid, and you’ll have to check yourself into a mental care facility after the drugs wear off, but right now all you want is that cock of his. He was right - you need it now.

Over and over Lucas begs - a litany of “please” and “let me fuck you, pretty please?” It wouldn’t have swayed you able-minded, but you're fucked in the head and he says it while squeezing your curves, peppering your spine with kisses through your thin shirt and licks the word into your lower back, hiking the material up and past your inflamed skin. He’s crazy...he’s fucked up like everyone said, but the way he touches you, mouths your skin and begs all but makes your decision for you. 

You whimper, curl your fingers around the edge of the counter and sigh, “...a-alright, fuck me.”

It’s a short second before he’s tipping himself to one side, shoving an arm between the both of you to position his sticky cockhead against your dripping cunt. You can’t even remember when he’d undone his pants, but that’s a thought not worth the energy as his hips jerk, finding where he needs to be with a panting breath and cants his hips forward, sliding home.

The feeling takes your breath away. 

“Jesus fuck!” he whines and goes from zero to eleven in under a second. Lucas immediately sets a raging rhythm; slapping his hips into your ass like you’ll run for the hills if he doesn’t keep shoving you bodily into the counter. Like you're going anywhere… you’d sooner let the whole town see you get fucked over this counter by Lucas Baker than have him stop what he’s doing.

He throws you into another stifling orgasm; fast and brutal and body melting. Drool runs down the edge of your lips as you make terrible, throaty hiccups against his manic thrusts.

The skin of your ass sings with each slap of his hips - the force nearly violent enough it's like he's backhanding the tender flesh with sandpaper. Your fingers turn white before your eyes, gripping hard as your body jolts back and forth, getting fucked by his huge cock. Again, for the fourth time, you climax, borderline-afraid as your insides clench, and your brain sparks like a fried capacitor. 

It hurts, but the pain is fast ebbing away as his cock keeps hitting that line his fingers had found moments ago. So good - so much better than any other fuck you’ve had that tears spring from your lashes and fall in a puddle on the counter.

Voice lodged in your throat, you grunt and gasp, bracing yourself as Lucas plants finger marks on your hips and fucks like it’s the first and last time he’s ever done it. Could be his first time...you’re not sure, and you don’t care. All those dick pictures and yessss… you’ve thought about fucking that cock of his before you realized it was his and now that it’s happening you’re becoming a fast mess with little care but coming.

Behind you, it sounds like Lucas is sobbing as if it’s just as good for him too. Maybe it is, you wonder, sucking in a breath as he fumbles, rhythm stuttering, so he can work a hand down under your belly. Lucas finds your sloppy clit with two thick fingers; rubbing just as brutally as he throws his cock back into you. 

“Fuck! Fuck’fuck’fuuuck.” You see spots of black and purple dance across your vision as you cum again, sinking boneless along the hard counter surface. The dual stimulation is your downfall, but that’s what you wanted, right? - you said he could, and this is what you’d been waiting for.

You wanted it, and he gave it.

Lucas Baker fucks you right there in your Ma’s hardware store, sweat beading on your brow, some unknown chemical in your system while a storm rages outside. Lucas fucks you and fucks you and whispers how tight you are and how he wouldn’t mind it if your cunt strangled his dick off.

It’s hard enough keeping yourself from getting fucked into the edge of the counter to really savor all the confessions he throws against you, but your fast on your way to another orgasm and all you can think about is more bliss. The pleasure stems from where his cock drags, and his fingers swipe - it runs all the way down to your toes and fingertips. 

Your fifth climax comes at a hundred miles an hour. It buckles your knees, leaving you pinned there by Lucas’ hips and nothing more. This one drags on and on, leaving you a puddle over the counter with drool and tears painting the surface. 

Lucas, for all his big talk, makes a loud wheeze, pulls at your hips and blows off like he's never cum before, “Shit! O’oh sh’shhhit…” He moans and grunts like someone's stabbing him in the back as that wet warmth floods your cunt, making his slow thrusts sloppy and overly sensitive. You’d have laughed as he whimpered above you, but you're too busy trying to catch your own breath; trying to decide was up and down and if that rushing in your ears is the rain outside or the blood inside. 

“Ahhhh… fuck meeee,” he seethes, giving one last hard buck inside you, “uhhh… shit, damn! Heh, you gotta admit, that shit really drains the tailpipe, don’t it?” 

You curl your nose at his phrasing, groaning in disgust just in time for him to pull his softening dick out of you. It makes a terribly wet, suction of noise and leaves you dripping cum down your inner thighs. Based on the chummy huffs Lucas makes, you can guess he’s watching his jizz dribble out of you…

“You’re,” you inhale, trying to calm your pounding heart, “... a son of a bitch.” You groan and carefully peel your face off the counter, leaving behind a sparkling pool of spit and tears. Fucking hell, you think, blinking away a sticky fog.

“Oh’weee, guess ah’ struck a nerve there didn’t I, Faith? Well, hit another nerve than this un’ here,” he giggles, running through snarky and delirious as he smacks his hips, wet cock and all into your rear end. 

You just let Lucas Baker fuck you, cum in you and now what are you gonna let him do?! - let him take you back to his place and lock you up in his basement or something? This had to be a fucking nightmare.

“Woooo’heee, baby. Goddamn! Hell of ah’ ride.”

“We done here?” You ask - getting fucked that hard must have scrambled your brains because of course, you’re not. This wasn’t about a quick fuck against your will, well… mostly against your will. He’d been planning this for months, probably years and to think he’d spend it all on thirty minutes over a counter with you from behind? - it's laughable. But, out of everything, you don’t expect another needle in your neck and a warm, soft lull to wash over you.

“Oh..ow, you assh...h…”

Lucas chuckles, “ Nighty, night, now. I’d say sweet dreams, but you ain’t gonna be having those anymore. Heh!”

Fuck him, you think, painfully aware you already did but it’s all your dopey brain can produce as the drug takes effect, driving you under like an engulfing wave, bringing you down to the bottom of a dark, abyssal sea. Around you, the shutters shake as thunder booms. A little flash of what must have been lightning penetrating the thin skin of your eyelids and down you go.

“That’s it,” Lucas echoes between your ears, “the games jus' gettin’ started, baby.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr ----> http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/


End file.
